Harry Potter and the Rise of Azrael
by The Cursed and Torn
Summary: Dumbledore underestimated the hate that Petunia Durlsey had for her sister and everything magical. As a result, upon the discovery of young Harry on her doorstep, she leaves him at an orphanage run by the Sacred Order of St. Dumas. Years later, he rises within the diseased American city, Gotham, as Death's Dark Knight, Azrael.
1. Chapter 1

Prologue:

* * *

Petunia Dursley was not always the woman she now was today. At one point, she had been a happy child with loving parents, a younger and adorable sister, and for awhile, everything had seemed right in the world.

Then, on a day that seemed like any other, HE came into their lives. A sniveling wretched child, whose parents spent most of their time arguing and fighting with each others for reasons that as a child she couldn't understand, but now as an adult, and living the life she had after that unfaithful encounter, knew all too well.

Dressed in mismatching clothing, his hair long and unkempt, greasy in appearance, and his nose abnormally large for a child his age, he had grown enthralled by her younger sister, Lily, claiming them to be special. In having the gift of magic, of making the impossible possible, of turning dreams into reality. A gift that Petunia did not share, which had caused the putrid boy to immediately dismiss her as something less than satisfactory, than human, not even worth a second glance at. It had infuriated her then, and it do so now whenever the memory was revisited.

This…gift, her sister and the boy shared, even at a young age, was something that she grown envious of. It was not something she had been consciously aware of until the day the letter that the boy, Severus he had introduced himself as, had predicted would arrive for her sister.

An acceptance letter to the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

The beast had reared its ugly head instantly, snapping its powerful and hungry jaws at Petunia's heart, devouring it whole and until it took its place, beating within her every second of her life since.

Originally awed by her sister's ability when she first reviled it to her, she had made her keep it a secret, unsure of how her parents would react and fearing the worse. At the time, her sister meant the world to her, and she would have done anything to protect her.

It was a shame that the feeling was never returned.

When the Headmaster of this school had come to pick Lily up and take her to a place called Diagon Alley, Petunia had begged the old man to take her with him, to somehow bestow upon her the same abilities that her sister had. He had given her a 'grandfatherly' smile, which did nothing but cause a deep burning rage of jealous anger as he said that he could not give her the abilities that her sister shared, that it was something one was born with, and that even if he were somehow able to grant her wish, he would not, as she was too old to join the school, and would be at an extreme disadvantage.

Taking her sister away, they had returned hours later, Lily filled with wonders stories of the place that had magic in every nook and cranny, arms filled with chocolate frogs that leaped around the house, a cauldron that stirred itself, even when empty, and a real live wand, that with her new Headmaster's permission, shot sparks from.

Her parents were delighted. The elderly old man found their reactions as well as his newest student's amusing. Petunia merely glared coldly at the scene.

For the first time in her life, she felt like a true outsider in her own home. It would not be the last.

Her sister departed aboard the red locomotive heading towards the enchanted castle that her sister had read so much about within its own titled book, Hogwarts, A History. She had tried for weeks to convince her sister of finding some way of sharing her magical gifts, which she had vehemently refused time and time again. She had been told that it was impossible by Professor Dumbledore, whom by her study of the man, was one of the greatest wizards of the age. If he said it was impossible, then what reason did she have not to believe him?

Her answer infuriated Petunia, and as a result, had not spoken to her for the remainder of the summer holidays until her departure aboard the Hogwarts Express. She had nastily snide at her that life at home would be much better without her, which had hurt her younger sister terribly. What guilt she felt at her own stinging words were butchered by the jealousy that so deeply clouded her mind.

She did not know how wrong her assumption and cruel comment truly was.

Upon the discovery of her sister's gift, her parent's full attention had gone to their youngest and as a result, ignored the needs and attention that she, Petunia, required.

It was unintentional, or that was how it would seem from Mr. and Mrs. Evans point of view. They're youngest daughter barely at the age of eleven, was discovered to hold an ability that defied logic and rationality. Not only that, but she had been asked to join a school they had never heard of, nor know the location of, and wouldn't see their child for nine months out of a year for the next seven years, not counting the Yule holidays should Lily wish to return, until she reached the age of majority. They were missing out on a great chunk of their daughter's childhood and life, which would drastically turn to a world they could not truly begin to understand. To a rational adult, it would make sense, and would be understandable how one's attention becomes so focused on one of your children.

To a thirteen year old girl however, it was painful neglect, insecurities on her own self-worth and place in the hearts of her mother and father, and later, a belief that beside her 'perfect sister' Lily, that Petunia was less than perfect. That she was imperfect. After all, why would her parents, whom had before the discovery of Lily's magical abilities treated her and Lily equally with bouts of affection, suddenly turn their full attention only to her, and no longer on Petunia herself?

It should come as no surprise that Petunia, just as she had began to resent her sister for her magical talents, began to resent her parents, which would, as all resentment does, turn to outright hatred.

* * *

Years went by, and Lily grew more and more into her magical heritage, out rightly ignoring her more mundane roots, her parent's still lavishing their love and attention on her. Beautiful, having the attention of many young men, both within their neighborhood and from the stories that she told of an infuriating boy called James Potter, at that freak school of hers, Lily was soon becoming a blooming orchid while she, Petunia, slowly became a withering weed. Years of having no love from her parents (whom saw their oldest daughter's shunning and cold behavior as rebellious teenage behavior), Petunia, who had held herself above all the pretences of being a teenage girl, devoted herself to nothing but her studies and twisted belief and visions and what 'perfection' was. As a result, she alienated herself from her peers, subject to nasty rumors, teasing, and bullying. She took it all as criticism, which made her only stride harder to become 'perfect', which she attributed to 'normal'. She expected nothing from them, as, if her own parents could not love her, why would random strangers do so?

Upon reaching her majority, and finishing her required secondary education, she had left home without so much as saying goodbye to her parents, or even seeing her sister off to her second to last year at her 'freak school'. Getting several scholarships and working two jobs on the side, in addition to whatever money she had saved while growing up, she embarked to gain a tertiary education at University.

It was at this time that she met the young, if not slightly overweight man that was known as Vernon Dursley. They're meeting had been a complete accident, as at the time, Petunia was stuck on the side of the road, her car having finally died out on her due to lack of car repairs, the cost of which was far too expensive from her bills and school expenses, that she barely meet ends meet from working two jobs. He had pulled over, knowing a far bit about mechanics, and having realized how much disrepair her car had been in, called to have it towed away before giving her a ride home. He had been nothing but gentlemanly throughout, and upon an invitation insider her loft (which wouldn't have lead to anything, as she was not that type of woman) insisted that she had a rough night, and that he didn't require any reward for public decency to his fellow man/woman. It had kindled something alight within in her heart, which had warmed her until their fateful meeting two weeks later in the middle of the London's King's Crossing, where he had boldly asked her out on a date, which she had accepted, flush from the gesture.

From the initial first date, and subsequent yearlong relationship that followed, when Vernon had gotten down on one knee and proposed to her, she knew her answer could be nothing else but yes.

It was the single happiest moment of her life, and for awhile, she believed that nothing could spoil it.

She was wrong.

* * *

Upon her parent's declining health, she had gone to visit them at their behest, her life her own. She was engaged to be married, to a loving husband with a good job, had the house of dreams situated in a nice quiet, and safe suburban area, and if things went according to plan, she would be bringing her own child into the world.

Truly, it was a time in which Petunia never felt happier.

But, as it has since been the case since the dawn of time, not all good things are meant to last, and the most fleeting moments of happiness are often followed by the tragedy of grief.

Seeing both of her parent's on their death beds, Petunia had thought that for a fleeting moment, that all her efforts, which she had believed for so long, had been in vain, had finally seen fruitarian. Her parents finally had seen her, _her_, and would open their hearts to her once more. It would be a bittersweet moment, knowing that it had taken them until their near passing in order to come to grips with what they had done to her, but she would forgive them. Despite her thoughts on the matter, she did not hate her parents completely, and a small part of her, the part that was still a little girl who idolized her parents and loved her sister more than anything, still existed within.

And with just four words, four tiny words, did that little part of her wither and die, the child within her yearning for the love of her parents that she had been cruelly robbed of, replaced by a bitter, scornful, and hateful woman.

"Petunia dear, where's Lily?"

And just like that, years of repressed anger, hatred, sadness, insecurities, and jealousy was released from her being. She screamed at them, ranted, on how even on their death beds, all they could think about was their precious Lily. How for years she had been dealt with neglect, how the last time she remembered someone saying that they loved her was when she was twelve, and how it taken nearly ten years for her to hear it again from her soon to be husband. How she had worked herself to near death to gain their love, and how nothing she ever did was good enough for them, as nothing could compare to their second, and now only daughter, Lily. She wished them an early death, and hoped that they found solace with the fact that they abandoned one daughter, who did everything in her power to win their affection, for one who did not even care to know they were sick and dying, let alone visit them.

She left them, ignoring their calls for her to return, that they were sorry, that they wished to discuss what she had just screamed herself hoarse at them, that they never meant for her to feel like they had abandoned her in favor of Lily, which turned from to desperate pleas and sobbing cries of reconciliation.

Though she may have not said it to them in their face, they could clearly hear the underlining message that she had delivered, which would be the one thing on their minds for the first par their magical child Lily.

_I hate you._ It was the one thing no parent wanted to hear their child say, especially when it was most likely going to be the last thing they ever said to you.

For Mr. and Mrs. Evans, it was. Two weeks later, they died in their sleep, in tears and alone with each other, knowing until they took their last breaths that their eldest hated them for mistakes they could not take back, and that their youngest, Lily, had never responded to their calls to her, or come to visit. They died with the doubt that they were good parents, a doubt that would always haunt their memory.

Nobody claimed or picked up the bodies, despite the hospital calling both daughters of the Evans family. As a result, they were buried in a public cemetery, their remains cremated, and would remain unvisited as Lily, whom was now in hiding from the Dark Lord Voldemort with her husband James, whom would later die a year later, and Petunia, who when asked, would vehemently claim that she had no mother or father. This point was proven more thoroughly as at the time of her wedding; the rows usually dedicated to family were hauntingly empty.

Now, more than a year later, she was faced with another aspect of her troubled life that she wished to never once again have to deal with.

Magic, in the form of an infant child.

Her nephew, Harry James Potter.

* * *

After discovering him outside her door earlier that morning, Petunia had read the letter attached to the child's blanket, and upon discovering who wrote the letter, and its contents, had filled Petunia with a cold fury. Taking the child, she had quickly taken the keys to Vernon's car, placing the child in the passenger seat, before driving off into the outskirts of London.

Thoughts of what this wretched child could, and would do to her family filled her mind, each one more badly than the last. Of the child somehow taking the attention away from her precious Dudley, whom would grow up unloved, much like she herself had. She knew nothing of magic or the foul acts that the boy could enforce upon her and Vernon that would make them ignore, possibly even hate their own child, much like Lily and her unnaturalness did to their family.

She'd rather drown the foul little bastard then have him usurp her Dudley's place in her heart!

But she was not a murderer, and certainly not a child killer at that, but something had to be done. She refused to let this foul thing in her house, no matter what that old fool said. She owed nothing to Lily, and she would not be saddled with taking care of her sister's brat because she got herself killed or even pregnant in the first place. She refused!

But that still left her with the problem on what to do with the child…

Her frantic driving, eventually paid off, as at the very outskirts of the center of London, Whitechapel she believed, she found herself coming towards a unanimous and slightly old church. Gothic in style, and looked to what appeared to be centuries old, Petunia felt something deep within her resonate with the decrypt building. Driving the car to the front of the outstretched dirt path leading to the church's front oak doors, Petunia debated with herself for a brief moment before ultimately unbuckling her safety belt and exiting the car, only to go around the front to the passenger side, opening the door and taking her nephew into her arms and to the church itself.

Once there, she debated about knocking on the large doors, alerting the clergy to her arrival, but decided against it. They would ask questions, questions she could not, and did not want to answer. Laying the child down, and having the mindset to wrap it more securely into its blanket, Petunia gave the child one last look, and felt a sense of foreboding and doubts cloud her mind for a brief moment. For one second, the little girl buried deep underneath the hate, the insecurities, the jealousy, reared her head and screamed that this was her nephew, little Lily's child, and that she couldn't abandoned him no matter her feelings to the contrary.

And just like that, the voice was buried once more and silenced as the bitter woman that innocent child had become spoke, reminding Petunia of all the injustices she had suffered. Of all the hate that she held for her younger sister, of all the insecurities that she had regarding her parent's and the place she held in the heart that seemed to have grown smaller with each passing day, instead given to her 'perfect sister'. Of the fact that she had gained the handsome, funny, and kind husband while she (in a moment of self-reflection that would not last but a mere second), had gained a short-tempered, obese, and often times uncaring man that she now had no choice but to love. Of the fact that she could do something she could never dream of doing, all because she was 'born' with the power to do so. An unnatural ability. A freak.

Turning her cold eyes towards the infant once more, she gave an undignified snort at it, spitting at the ground beneath her feet before she turned on her heel and walked back to the car, turning on the ignition and speeding off into the streets of London, never looking back. This would be the last time that Petunia Dursley would see her nephew for a great many years, and she had no idea the consequences that would form due to her petty actions.

Meanwhile, back at the church, a figure, who had watched the woman leave the child with no note, before spitting at it and driving away, stepped out of the shadows of the tree he had taken refuge in as soon as the woman pulled up in front of the rather ominously looking house of worship.

He cast the retreating vehicle a dark glare, hoping that the Righteous Fury of the Father bare down upon the woman for her actions before turning his eyes, now holding a glint of curiosity, at the squirming child.

Pale skin, even for a baby, he noticed the bright green eyes the child held, in addition to the small mop of night black hair on top of its head. What truly gained his attention however the lightning shaped scar present on the child's forehead.

Picking the child up into his arms, he stared hard at the scar, before looking into the child's emerald green eyes, and giving a small smile as the child reached for the cross shaped pennant draped over his neck.

"Hello to you as well…Harry Potter…"

* * *

**/-/Author's Note\-\\**

* * *

**A little story that I cooked up after getting back into the DC Universe Comics, playing Batman: Arkham City, and then immersing myself into the Justice League cartoon again. Ah, the more memorable times of my youth…**

**Anyway, I have read a few HP/DC Universe, or Justice League crossovers, where they generally follow the theme of Harry either ending up the son of Bruce Wayne, his sibling, or in the very rare occasion, a Kryptonian on his mother's/father's side. From there, it plays out to the book series, adding in that Harry has either the intelligence and cunning of Bruce, superpowers, or some other ability that just makes him overpowered and steamroll the entire first and second book, which is where author's generally run out of steam. Not this time ladies and gentleman! I have a whole written draft of where this story goes, beginning, middle, and end, the ending itself already written. I have incorporated ideas from the comics, games, and cartoon, and am pretty confident with what I have in mind story-wise. Regardless, let me know what you think by leaving me a review. Criticism is welcomed, as always.**

**Also, in regards to Petunia's character, let me know if I over did it or not.**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 1: Discoveries Profound

* * *

It has been several weeks since the death of the young couple Lily and James Potter. The wizardry world, at least as far as the borders of the British Isles, were still in celebration at the fall of the Dark Lord Voldemort, while simultaneously mourning the death of two brave individuals, who sacrificed their lives to put a stop to the now deceased Dark Lord, while at the same time revering them for giving birth to their savoir, Harry Potter.

One such individual, whom while not celebrating the death of the self proclaimed Dark Lord, but known only to a few, himself included, of his true birth name of Tom Marvolo Riddle, was still in his own way enjoying the man's fall. Holding himself at least partially responsible for the man's fall into disgrace and darker aspects of magic, the current Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Albus Dumbledore was one of the first to be pleased with the news of the man's defeat. This happiness was however offset by the passing of two of his favorite pupils, and close friends, Lily and James.

Anguished at their passing, though pleased that their son survived, Dumbledore was of two minds of the situation. Remembering the prophecy that the newly hired Divinations Professor Sybill Trelawney had given close to a little more than a year ago, and that one young Severus Snape had listened in too, Dumbledore was certain that it had meant Lily and James young scion. There was another possibility in the Longbottoms, as they had conceived a child at the same time, but considering James' family's high providence, in addition to their strong stance within the Light, he held no doubts that Voldemort would choice them as the parents of his would-be killer. That wasn't to say that the Longbottoms were any less important or less of a threat to Voldemort at the given time, but there was just something about the Potters that made them shine brighter and stand taller over Alice and Frank.

In the end, his belief had been proven correctly, though he could not help but feel that Snape's own report to Voldemort later that same evening undoubtedly, could have possibly influenced the man's choice. It had been no secret to anyone that knew either boy that James and Severus did not like each other, and flat out despised one another. Whatever their reasons and differences, it was their mutual affection for Lily that brought them in confrontation the most. Both had romantic intentions to the girl since they first laid eyes on her, though James' obnoxious behavior during his youth had colored Lily's opinion of him slightly, and his rivalry and dislike for Severus only served to paint him in a much more unappealing light. He would not call what James did to Severus as bullying, if only because Severus would retaliate in equal, if not occasionally greater measure. He had of course had to put their differences aside, but he had a school to run and a great many students to look after, and focusing his attention on just two were unbecoming and unprofessional. In the end however, he recalled sadly, Severus, whom had been leaning towards the wrong crowd with already questionable motives and history with past dark lords, had fallen in with them completely when, during his fifth year, Lily had for reasons still unknown to him, broke off complete contact with the young Slytherin, a friendship that she and he both were given grief over from their respective houses. From there, he path to the side of darkness was not only assured, but inevitable.

But that still did not stop the young man, whose crush had already evolved beyond the point of mere infatuation, from continuing to adore Lily.

It was the very likely the only reason he had arrived at the gates of Hogwarts that same night, still dressed in his Death Eater garbs, asking to see him. He had admitted to speaking to Voldemort about the prophecy, how he had subtle attempted to manipulate Tom into attacking the Potters, just to fulfill a selfish young man's desire to gain the woman that held his heart.

Knowing Tom as he did, he was sure that he would have attacked both the Potters and the Longbottoms at any rate due to the mere possibility that he could be potentially defeated by one of their scions, and that he knew exactly what Severus had been attempting to do right from the beginning when he made his report. Albus found it relatively possible that Tom struck the Potters first more out of convince, and to teach Severus a listen in never attempting to manipulate him.

He probably informed Severus as such, and in an act of desperation, went to him, the only wizard alive that Voldemort truly feared, in the hopes of saving Lily. He had no delusions that Severus did not care for James, or his unborn child, despite the fact that half the boy's blood came from Lily's. He also had no misgivings that should he be unable to keep his promise of protection, that Severus would turn against him as well. Severus, if nothing else, proved that his first and only priority was himself.

And in a time of war, Dumbledore could not afford such people with individualistic beliefs into his fold. Not without the proper precautions.

He had forced upon Snape a Magical Oath of servitude, and from there, an Unbreakable Vow to never reveal any and all information he would learn from the Order of Phoenix, Dumbledore's own privately owned and funded group of talented witches and wizards, who wanted to see the newest threat to Magical Britain defeated. Severus had given both willingly, though he imagined that in the young man's rather undeveloped mind that by doing so, he was proving himself a righteous and incorruptible figure that Lily would fawn over. He probably did not realize the full implications of the fact that he had given up his freedom and sold himself into a life of slavery, and he Albus, the master.

With a spy within the ranks of Tom's Death Eaters, Dumbledore soon gained some much needed vital information that he utilized to the best effect. Of course, Albus wasn't a man who didn't keep his word. True to their agreement, even if Dumbledore with the oaths he had invoked from Severus, and with their specific wording, he did not have too, he still cared very deeply for his two former students, and informed them of the prophecy and their future child's role in it. They were frightened of the implications, not just for themselves, but their unborn baby as well, a concern that Dumbledore shared. He had recommended that they go into hiding, preferably under the power of a Fidelus Charm. They agreed, and Dumbledore volunteered his services, but they declined. Headmaster of Hogwarts, Leader of the Order of the Phoenix, and Supreme Mugwamp, he had enough respnsibilties as it was, and they did not wish to burden him with anymore. He was touched by their concern, and though felt he should still be the one to be their Secret Keeper, allowed them to make their own choice. He had believed when they had chosen Sirius Black, a longtime childhood friend of James, that they would be truly safe from Voldemort's grasp.

Now, two weeks following their death, Dumbledore knew better. The man turned out to be a traitor of the most horrific sort, and had followed the footsteps of his predecessors, and his younger brother, Regulus, in submitting himself to Lord' Voldemort's power. How he had managed to avoid scrutiny and the wards he had installed to prevent Death Eater entrance into the ever changing headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix was a small matter that dug at the back of his mind and conscious, as well as how he had not only managed to fool Lily and James, but also somehow was able to direct the attention to Remus as a possible leak to Voldemort. It was another regret of his, and much like the others, much too late to change.

And Peter…

Not of the religious sort, partly due to his ability to utilize magic, a feat dubbed impossible by the mundane community without the aid of lights, smoke, and mirrors, and the views of various religions and their tolerance of magic itself, Dumbledore bowed his head, and made a silent prayer that wherever the foolish, but nonetheless brave young man was, he was in a better place alongside Lily and James. It was all he could offer, and he knew that even with a Merlin 1st Class under the now dead man's name, it would not do Mrs. Pettigrew, the young man's only surviving relative, much good despite what the Minister may believe, and sent one for the woman to somehow gain the strength to move past such a tragedy…

Not even having Sirius locked up in Azkaban stopped the dull ache in the old wizard's heart, as now drowning in his guilt from his dealings with Grindelwald, and the death of his beautiful sister, Astoria, the fall of his former pupil, Tom, and now the death of three more, at the hands of a young man he had so terribly misguided…

A self decrypting smile grow on the old wizard's face, realizing that if the magical community of Britain truly knew of his actions, guilt, fear, and plans he had made at the arrogant age of seventeen, they would not be hailing him a hero, leader of light, and certainly not asking him time and time again to become Minister of Magic. It was too much power for one man to possess, and the fact that he had in his hands the power of the Elder Wand, and now the Cloak of Invisibility, a facet he now engrained deeply within his guilt (what if he never asked to see the cloak from James? Would it be possible he could have used it, evaded Voldemort and lived past that haunting night?), showed that he could not be trusted with power of any sort, and yet they, the witches and wizards of Britain, still clambered to him, turning themselves into stone pedestals t ascend and gain such power. It frightening on the utmost basic levels of his human nature…but at the same time, it called to him, seductive and alluring, bringing to mind every boyhood fantasy he held until the untimely death of his sister. With put a single step, a leap of faith, he could possibly attain such dreams all for his own…

By chance, he checked one of the many instruments that he had in place that checked whether Harry was at Privet Drive, breaking his much darker thoughts. Loath as he was to leave the boy there, the Blood Wards that he had enacted that would strengthen the protection his mother gave him, could be done little where else. Petunia, being the only relative that could claim any real familial ties to the child, was the only choice he could possibly consider. There had been Sirius, as he was related to the Potters, thus Harry, distantly, but with the reveal of his betrayal of the Potters, and the murder of Pettigrew, who had tried in a foolhardy attempt to avenge them and confront Black on his own. Remus held no ties to the boy whatsoever, and even if he did, he was a werewolf, and despite how good of a man he may be, Dumbledore could not in good conscious leave the boy in his care. Even if he used every precaution necessary to prevent any possible injury to the boy during his monthly transformations, there was still a chance he could terribly maim, if not kill the infant. And if by some miracle the boy survived, he would forever be tainted by the curse of lycanthropy, a stigma that would follow him until his dying days. And now mourning the death of three of his friends, and the betrayal of another, Dumbledore found it unwise to even attempt to broach the subject with the young man. Best leave him to grieve for the losses he suffered, and perhaps put him in later contact with Harry, should he ever ask for the boy's whereabouts. Having him sent to one of the many magical families that wanted to adopt him was also a risk. While obvious names like the Malfoys, Crabbes, Goyles, and Crowes were put out of consideration from the get-go, other families such as the Greengrass, Notts, were a coin toss. He did not know of their true allegiances during the war, as they had remained neutral, though a few of 'black sheep' as had entered the fight beside Tom. Other families, such as the Bones and Weaselys would have been perfect, as Dumbledore was rather close to the Weaselys, particularly Arthur and Molly, whom he had taught during his time as Transfiguration Professor. Unfortunately for them, they had just recently given birth to a baby girl, and a year before that, their youngest son, Ronald. Already less fortunate then most pureblood families and putting one student through school, and another one in a little over a year was already stretching their thin finances. Having them feed another mouth, and put another child through school would be too much for them. He'd of course given them access to the Potter Trust vault if the need of money was that much of a concern, and simply write it down as a loan that he would reimburse Harry once he reached age eleven and gained access to his vault. While the title of Magical Guardian went to Sirius, due to his imprisonment and betrayal of Harry's parents, the title and magic invoked with it went to the next in line for the title. Since Dumbledore was somebody they had trusted deeply, and he being closest to his former pupils aside from possibly Minerva, who needed time to grieve, the title went to him. But he already knew the Weasely's answers to that possible suggestion, and would refuse the offer. He himself had made numerous offers of funds from his own family accounts, none of which he had touched since his dear Astoria passed, and as Head of the House of Dumbledore, his brother could not gain access without his permission, which even if he gave, his brother would most likely refuse.

His thoughts halted as an ice cold feeling of dread crept down his spine.

The device that he had activated, just gave off readings that were worsen then bad. Beyond terrible. Horrific even.

Harry Potter was not at Privet Drive. In fact, the Blood Wards that were activated that night collapsed within a few hours, as Harry never entered the home, thus annulling the magic binding it as with no Potter to house, the Wards served no purpose, nor means to sustain itself.

The possible scenarios running through the man's mind were not the most pleasant, and in a blow of his cloak, disappeared from his office with small 'pop'.

* * *

Arriving at the pathway leading to #4 Privet Drive, Dumbledore noticed immediately that nothing was amiss, and that the house was perfectly intact. It ruled out the thought of a possible attack from Voldemort's followers, whom had somehow managed to track Harry to his relatives.

This left the possibility of a kidnapping. Though they have not been seen in Magical Britain since he was a young child, it was possible, although rather faint, that a slaver could have found Harry and taken him away to be bartered. He had before leaving the child at #4 to place a series of charms which would not only keep Harry asleep until morning, but also warm throughout the cold November evening. He had also installed a variety of spells that caused Harry to be invisible to all but a blood relative, which would break upon contact. Anti-muggle wards keyed to only Petunia ensured that even if someone with good intentions would not be able to take Harry away, but old as he was, and much to his embarrassment, overconfident, much due to his use of the Elder Wand, had caused him to not anticipate a magical presence that could have easily broken through his charms that were not former followers of Voldemort.

That mistake might have just cost the magical world of its greatest hero and living legend, as well as the Potter line as well. Fewer pureblood families were in existence, dying off each and every year, marrying off into subservient houses or marrying their cousins and second cousins to a point where it was hard to discern if the woman who gave birth to you was your mother or your sister. The Malfoy family was an example of the former, and the Blacks of the latter. Both were rather prominent houses not two centuries ago, and while still powerful in their own rights, were mere shadows of their former selves. With the incarceration of all possible Black heirs, it left a vacuum of power, which if the current situation had not presented itself, Dumbledore would have turned his attention to as his biggest concern.

And then of course there was Albus' own house, which consisted of only himself and his brother, Aberforth, both of them well beyond the years of fatherhood…

But with the disappearance of Harry, The-Boy-Who-Lived, the Chosen One, it would have to sit on the backburner until such a time Dumbledore could focus his entirety on it.

For the moment, there were more pressing matters to attend too.

Striding to the doors of the house, Dumbledore did not bother knocking, simply knocking the door off its hinges, wand at the ready to strike at a moment's notice.

He had expected to possibly find several witches and wizards at the ready, wands drawn and ready to fire, perhaps the bodies of Petunia and her family, dead or tortured, having had Harry forcibly taken from their grasp.

He was instead shocked to hear Petunia give a shriek of surprise and terror, her husband, a rather large individual similar to that of an oversized baby whale, his face turning purple, sputtering at the apparent break in. Beside Petunia was a baby, wailing at the cancellation of its meal, which Petunia had been the middle of feeding him. For the briefest of moments, Dumbledore thought the child to be Harry, but disregarded the idea when he found the child to be rather heavyset in comparison to Harry, who was much smaller in comparison.

Realizing that the Dursley's, aside from the recent break-in that he had perpetrated, were no worst for the wear, and that Harry was still nowhere in sight, thus it was not a malfunction on the Ward's part, narrowed his eyes at Petunia, and dove into her mind to reveal the whereabouts of the young Potter scion.

The truth that she showed turned his usual sparkling blue eyes cold and his heart heavy, before they inflamed with the burning fires of fury.

It was at this time that the rather large man had brought himself from his recliner chair, a feat that Dumbledore might have found impressive, given his size, and charged at him with a poker from the fireplace, no doubt intent on causing bodily harm to him.

With a casual flick of his wand, he had sent the man, Vernon apparently as Petunia screamed her husband's name, flying off across the room and into the fireplace, knocking the man out cold and setting his clothing on fire. He walked past the burning man, taking note to douse the flames before they did any real damage, and flicking his wand at the baby, instantly lulling it to sleep.

That act alone snapped Petunia out of her fright filled stance, and into a raging fury that could only be born from a mother who believes her child was in immediate danger.

"MY BABY! WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY BABY YOU FOUL UNNATURAL FRE-!"

Dumbledore flicked his wand once more, silencing the woman before conjuring a set of ropes, tying the woman to the chair she had been previously sat on while feeding her child, before Dumbledore settled his ice cold blue eyes at her.

"Petunia…you…!"

Dumbledore was a patient man, a trait he had not been born with and learned from the grievances he had suffered from during his long life. Becoming a teacher, and then later Headmaster of a school, had only taught him how to better manage that illusive virtue.

Now, he had no such patience, and was filled only with a burning sensation to force the answers he so sought from the woman's mind, but the thought of pillaging deeper into this fool muggle's mind was too much for him to stomach at the moment.

But even so, it would not stop him from lashing out.

"You gave away your nephew Petunia. Your only nephew, only link to your sister, now dead, and you gave him away. After I explained in great detail the horrors he may face, how he needed a guiding hand, a loving hand, to raise him to be a loving and fair man like Lily would have wanted too. And. You. Gave. Him. Away."

He removed the charm, and stared acidly at the woman, and where he wanted to say a great many things, none of them flattering, he asked the most important question that plagued his mind the minute he found out that Petunia had given up Harry willingly, and based on her emotions from the brief memory, quite happily even.

"Why?"

She had the horrid audacity to look affronted by the question.

"Why? Why give up a child that's not even mine? Why give up a child that has an unnatural and freakish ability, which could possibly endanger _my _child? Why give up a child that was born of my _perfect_ sister Lily, on account that she couldn't keep her damn legs closed?"

Her tone set Dumbledore on edge, as did her words.

"Do not accuse Lily of such unbecoming behavior in front of me again Petunia. While it is clear that you hold no affection for you sister, respect the dead as they lay."

Petunia merely spat at the ground near Dumbledore's feet in reply.

"Respect the dead? I hold those who passed and close to my heart dearly _Professor_, but that wretched whore, is not among them."

Petunia shrieked as the fine china in her house exploded, and the various food she had been preparing before her precious Dudley had cried for attention setting themselves aflame.

Dumbledore, who ignored the accidental bit of magic, something he would have been embarrassed about under more dignified circumstances, gave Petunia a dark look, one that only Grindelwald had seen, which had led to his defeat, and later, imprisonment.

"I warned you once already Petunia. I will not do so a second time."

"Lily took everything that ever mattered away from me! You don't know what it's like, to work hard for the acknowledgment of your parents, to gain their love when it was oh so freely given to your sibling on the account that they were different. That they could do something you could not, that because since they were _special_, they needed to be looked after closely, loved all the more so they wouldn't feel out of place, while you end up feeling the one unwelcomed in your own home!"

Dumbledore felt a twinge within his old heart, and vaguely recalled a time of a young man, whose excellence in school and natural brilliance was overshadowed by a rather introverted, and slightly off young girl…

"I worked hard in school, got good grades, never stayed out after curfew, never went out with boys, never broke a single rule in their house, and where did it get me? No friends, lack of a social life, sick on occasion from late nights used to study to get top marks, and even a decline in my appearance. And despite all of it, my parents never acknowledged me aside from being a net to throw their own insecurities and problems on regarding their precious Lily."

Dumbledore had by this point lowered his wand, listening the Petunia's rant which had began anger and self-righteous, now moving on in a sobbing, broken, and pitiful tone of voice that showed how very little he knew of Petunia outside of what Lily told her, and giving him a look into the family life of those related to the witches and wizards of the world who lacked the ability they did. At the same time, he was lost in his own past, seeing a similarly bitter young man with the world before him, confined, trapped against his will in his ancestral home, ashamed of his brother and father, and angry at his mother and sister…

"I visited them when they were dying Headmaster. I went to them, with my own life in my hands, with a variety of achievements and accomplishments, and was ready to accept my parents for seeing the error of their ways, and reconnecting. Instead, what do I get, but another concern about Lily. Not me, the daughter whom had not been in contact with them for four years, but the frivolous witch who could have bewitched them to do anything she wanted without a moment's hesitation."

If Dumbledore was feeling any of that earlier anger as he had at the moment, he would have no doubt fiercely denied that Lily would do such things as ensnare her own parents in a spell to have their complete and total devotion. He didn't believe that she would, or even allow it a passing fancy, but then to a young girl who is slowly witnessing her parent's ever increasing fascination with their youngest daughter in favor of ignoring the older one, and with the ability to manipulate the very fabric of reality at her fingertips, he could see where the possibility laid…

"I'll say to you what I said to them. To hell with you. To hell with you, your fellow freaks, to Lily and her moronic husband, and most of all, to hell with that monstrous child that you left on my doorstep! TO HELL WITH ALL OF YOU! DON'T COME NEAR ME OR MY FAMILY AGAIN!"

By this time, tears were pooling heavily down Petunia's hollow cheeks, and Dumbledore felt all fight leave him. He did not like Petunia, and her recent action only reinforced that dislike, but with her rant, her anger, came understanding.

He stared hard at her, trying in vain to find a single trace of the small girl that had begged him to let her into Hogwarts to be with her sister, to bear upon her the gift of magic so that they may not be apart.

He found none within this misshapen shell sitting before him, and it truly broke his heart. Petunia may now be a woman of ill repute, and further than that, perhaps even mentally unhinged, but she was a woman that had suffered a great many wrongs in her life, and it had wore her down to the point where bitterness, anger, and hatred were the only things that could sustain her. Without them, she had nothing to justify the years she had spent under the neglect, which in turn would make her struggles and life meaningless.

He glanced at the still slumbering toddler, then at Petunia, and closed his eyes, regret filling his form. He had never truly cared for Lily's home life, and when he had found out that she and her sister were estranged, he should have made an effort to get them to talk, at least by Lily's hand. The situation reminded him too much of the turmoil still fresh between him and his own brother…

Unbinding the woman, Dumbledore extracted the location of where she sent the boy, alarmed slightly by the choice, though not entirely surprised. A real orphanage would have required paperwork and information that Petunia was undoubtedly reluctant to give out, but he found it ironic that Harry had landed himself at a church of all places…

With a flick of his wand, he repaired all the damaged china, as well as the blasted door, and even went as far as to levitate the rather large man back onto the chair he had been sitting in earlier, and fixing the fireplace one the man was removed. He would have healed his injuries as well, but despite his skill and long life span, magical healing was still something that he was not very talented with.

Turning his back away from the woman, and making sure that the spell he placed on her son would dissolve within a few minutes, he gazed at the remaining Evans daughter, and whispered genuinely, "It may not mean much coming from me Petunia, but I apologize for the strife you have suffered. Had I known, perhaps I could have done something."

Petunia stared at him, her eyes still shimmering with tears, but not obscuring the hate they held.

"Thirteen years too late Dumbledore."

He merely nodded his head in response, before turning his gaze away from her and hardening his heart once more.

"I know."

And with a blow of his cloak, he was gone.

* * *

Dumbledore arrived outside the rather decrypted looking church, and began his long stride down the dirt path leading to the rather ominous oak doors leading inside the church.

Dumbledore's nerves, which were already flayed to a certain degree, only ignited further at the fact that he was entering unhallowed grounds for all magical kind.

With the prominent rise of organized religion, particularly Christianity, witches and wizards found themselves facing a new danger outside the occasional goblin war and witch hunts that the muggles would occasionally start every few decades or so.

Templers, Free Masons, religious zealots who under the belief of serving a higher being, a higher purpose, would amass in thousands, dressed in magical resistant armor, carrying weapons and variety of skills that counteracted the magical energies that every witch and wizard held, all for one singular purpose.

Genocide.

To the church, and perhaps the Templers themselves, they undoubtedly believed that there was nothing wrong with their actions. In fact, they may have even felt justified by it.

But for the magical men and women they hunted down, it was a living hell.

Long before his time, Dumbledore still heard the stories of the blood that was shed during those horrific times during his youth, a means in which his mother would attempt to scare him into behaving, lest the Templers come into their home and take him away. It was a tale that had scared him until he had become a student of Hogwarts, and later an amusing memory from better times in his youth.

Now however, it only brought back primitive fears that made Dumbledore feel like a small child again, despite his age, knowledge, and skill. The only true beneficial acts that came from those times was the organization of the magical communities into separate states, and increased muggle/magical relations at the time, in which several witches and wizards would defend various small villages and towns from destruction against invading Templar forces. Of course, the continuing crusades, and then degrading relations between the mundane and magical in the fifteenth century to the seventeenth, in addition to constant witch hunts and deaths of many magical children all ended up contributing to the International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy, and only after all forms of diplomacy failed.

And even now, many centuries after the events, Dumbledore still found himself slightly afraid of what laid behind those doors, despite the schism that it suffered, in addition to the belief that magic was nothing more than a fairy tale and means for those without the power of science to explain the mysterious of the world. It was primitive, and no doubt partly brought on by the recent war that he found himself expecting the worst, but, as his friend Alastor would say, "constant vigilance…"

He reached the doors, and raising a hand, was about to knock when he heard a Welsh accent speak beside him, startling him from his thoughts.

"Can I help you sir?"

Turning himself around sharply, Dumbledore found himself staring down at a man, probably no older then fifty-five, hair receding slightly, grey with specks of brown, his ice a light blue that bordered on grey, adorned in the black cassock and a white clerical collar, the symbol of the cross adorned around his neck.

Staring down at the much shorter man, Dumbledore tried to press a more intimidating and majestic front, which was cut short as the priest merely glared at him, recognition entering his eyes as his voice breaking through whatever introduction he was about to give.

"I know who you are sir. Supreme Mugwamp, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the supposed Leader of Light and defeater of the former Dark Lord Grindelwald. Beyond that, I know why you are here, and it is a failed endeavor. You cannot have Harry Potter."

The fact that the man, a mere muggle man, knew who he was startled Albus greatly. The fact that he knew why he was here, and who he was searching for, caused him to draw his wand at the ready, a deep red igniting the wooden tip.

"You are very well informed, and I find myself uneasy for it. Please, hand the child over to me, and I will leave quietly. Otherwise…"

Sparks flew out of the end of his wand to annunciate his point.

The man merely scoffed slightly at his threat.

"How predictable. A magical, threatening a mundane and a defenseless one at that, at wand point. And you wonder why the church and the crown hunted you down to near extinction…"

Dumbledore's blood ran cold, and he quickly stowed his wand back within his sleeves. He had undoubtedly just broken a great many laws with that stunt, and passed upon the man's rather steely look, any chance at peaceful negotiation.

"My apologizes. It is not often that a muggle knows who I am, nor my titles. With a war not ended only a few weeks prior, understand my rather aggressive response."

The priest merely glared at him response before growled in a low tone of voice, "Only because the Lord demands the forgiveness of his children's sins, and despite your…"gifts", you are still one of the Lord's children."

Dumbledore in response bowed his head in form of apology, before getting back to the matter at hand.

"Yes, as I have heard on a few occasions. To the previous topic, yes, I am indeed here for young Harry, though it does trouble me that you were able to deduce his name."

The priest scoffed slightly, an undignified noise that Dumbledore was certain under normal and possibly more pleasant circumstances would have not left the man's lips.

"We are not as blind as you would like us to think, Headmaster. The Vatican still has eyes and ears in your world, just as you do in ours. We know all about this Lord Voldemort, as well as the circumstances of his downfall."

Dumbledore found himself surprised that the church still had enough influence to gain informants in the magical world, though in honest retrospect, he shouldn't have been surprised. The church, even since the time of Merlin and the Founders, had been the magical world's strongest adversary. In a time were religious persecution was the norm and not the exception, and when kings, queens, emperors, and empresses bowed before the might of the church, showing who was the true leader of their lands, killing anyone even accused of being magic was their favorite pastime. Even when such an age has since long gone by, and the magical world has since hidden itself from the eyes of muggles, the fact that the church still kept tabs on them showed that nothing truly has changed in the past few centuries.

"The boy is now under the care of this church, and its practitioners. With no legal guardians, and the boy's aunt as you now identified her as, abandoning him at our doorstep, we took the necessary legal steps to formally adopt him. As of now, he is legally in my custody, and by extensions, the churches'. We know all about the role the boy played in the downfall of this practitioner of dark magic, and if you cared at all for the boy's interest, would have been content to know that he is not only safe, but cherished and loved."

"Be that as it may, I must insist-!"

The man cut him off abruptly, a bit of heat entering his tone of voice.

"Insist all you want Dumbledore. Unlike you and your society that remains hidden in the shadows, we know of the legality of our actions. The boy is ours, and nothing, including your government and vested titles can change that. Short of kidnapping the boy, there is nothing that you can say or do. You hold no authority over the boy, as his magical guardian still remains to be Sirius Black, whom from what hear, is now serving time in that security prison you call Azkaban. And even if you somehow got that issue resolved, our government still is on our side, and upon the possible threat of exposing you and your kind, you will never come back here or try to contact the boy outside your duties as Headmaster of a school that he may _or_ may not attend when he receives his letter."

Today was not turning out to be Dumbledore's best day, but he was not about to give up without a fight.

"You will teach the boy nothing but hatred and scorn for his own natural gifts. He will grow up knowing nothing of his parents, possibly outright hating them and maybe even himself just for having the natural ability to use magic."

The old man gave Dumbledore a cold glare.

"And you would have the boy stay at a household where he would be hated, abused, and possibly even outright killed for that very same thing? I hold no illusions that the woman who brought him here held no love for him, and if she were married, her husband undoubtedly would be no better. We are not fools Dumbledore. The Vatican has since long known the realistic dangers of magic, more than even those gifted with the ability, and have taken many painful steps to instruct those under our care with those abilities to never abuse them for their own betterment. Yes, there have been some rather bleak spots in our history, the Crusades are a prime example of that, but where we have learned and adapted, your community still holds itself to its centuries old ideas and beliefs of the superiority of magic over man. Magic may or may not be Lucifer's gift to humanity, but it is his evil work done with every man and woman who takes their abilities and uses them for the purposes of serving evil. Your 'Voldemort' is simply the latest example, and before that, Grindelwald. Two dark wizards in the past forty years alone and yet your people refuse to take steps to prevent such atrocities from existing!"

The man took a deep breath, trying to stave off the headache that the older wizard was giving to him.

"Besides, you have no decent argument to make any claim that the boy is not safe here. Aside from yourself and the woman, no one else knows the boy is here. I highly doubt that the woman, Petunia you called her, will truly speak of what transpired at her doorstep that fateful day, and should anyone come asking to retrieve the boy by name specifically, I shall know who revealed such information, Albus."

Dumbledore wanted to argue his point that Harry's safety was better left to his devices and powers, but the fact that his former plan in safeguarding the boy backfired, and in such a rather unexpected way, shattered whatever speech or argument he could come up with. In the end, Petunia had chosen her blind anger and resentment at her sister, had let it warp and twist her mind to the point where she would hate her own nephew, just for being the spawn of her recently departed sister.

His new understanding of her plight during her youth belayed any true fury that would have sparked ideas of revenge, but it still did not stop the bitterness he felt as he realized how small his options truly were.

"Perhaps then, we can come to a compromise?"

The man gave him an incredulous look.

"Compromise? There is no compromise. You wish to take the boy, plain and simple. Whether or not you have the best intentions at heart, your methods have proved otherwise. I feel no more comfortable to leave Harry in your care then I would any child, if not for nothing else then that other child holds no meaning to you outside of the fact that it is simply just a child. The fact that you claim to hold the child's best interest is even more frightening considering the circumstances that he found himself at our doorstep, and makes me wonder what you would do to the children that don't mean nearly as much. No Albus, we will not compromise, but I will promise you that when the time comes for his letter to arrive from Hogwarts, we will give him the choice to choose whether he will attend or not. If so, we will not stop him, and if not, then we will expect you to abide by the decision, and not attempt to force the boy to change his mind."

As bleak as an option as it was, Dumbledore's were limited.

"…very well then."

It was not the ideal situation Dumbledore had hoped for when he had left his office only a short hour ago, nor did it yield the most preferable results. The choice was left entirely up to Harry on whether or not he wished to attend Hogwarts, and he feared that under the guidance of the church, he would choice otherwise.

Still, there was very little to be gained from continuing this debate, and Dumbledore felt three times his age from recent events, and decided to retreat.

For the moment. He wasn't about to lose the only son of Lily and James Potter, especially in a time where the world needed a symbol to hold onto, that could inspire hope in the darkest of times that had yet to pass in the wake of Voldemort's fall, even with the darkness' hold substantially weakened.

"Before I leave, may I have your name? Forgive my manners for not asking earlier, but circumstances led to my usual curtsey taking absence."

The priest settled him an even stare, before deciding that at the very least, he could know his name. "Father Grieve, at your service."

"Well met Father. Please, just promise an old man well past his time to keep the boy safe."

"I promise that I, and my fellow practitioners of St. Dumas, will keep the boy safe from harm."

Dumbledore nodded, ignoring the slight tingling that the name Dumas gave in the back of his mind before disappearing with a blow of his cloak.

Father Grieve, for his part, stayed standing outside the church of St. Dumas for a good minute before turning around and heading for his personal chambers. He had a letter to write, and a meeting to adjourn.

After all, the Chosen One had to be kept safe to fulfill his destiny.

* * *

**/-/Author Note\-\\**

* * *

**End of the second chapter, and I apologize for the long wait. I haven't had much time to use the computer lately, and have been rather busy with work and other obligations that I have. Took me awhile to write down this chapter, but I wanted to express my own views of Dumbledore and his role in the events of Harry's placement at #4, in addition to the death of the Potters, as well as Sirius imprisonment. It would have been too easy and cliché to fall into the now stereotypical 'Dumbledore is just as evil as Voldemort' plot device, and I decided to do something a tad different as a result, which lead to a Dumbledore with his hands tied behind his back kind of deal, though I would like to hear your opinions on the matter.**

**On a separate, if not similar note, I have recently watched the Dark Knight Rises, and found it to be a rather good movie, which is saying something since I'm not that much of a Batman fan to begin with. I highly recommend people to go see it if they've already haven't.**

**Anyway, leave me a review and tell me what you think. Criticism is, as always, welcomed.**

**Until my next update ladies and gentlemen,**

**TheCursedAndTorn**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary: Dumbledore underestimated the hate that Petunia and Vernon Durlsey had for everything magical. As a result, upon the discovery of young Harry on their doorstep, they leave him at an orphanage run by the Sacred Order of St. Dumas. Years later, he rises within the diseased American city, Gotham, as Death's Dark Knight, Azrael.**

* * *

Chapter 2: Intervention of Destiny

* * *

Ten years. That's how long it's been since the most important change had come into his life. A change that had wild, unruly black hair and bright emerald green eyes…

Smiling softly, an elderly man of fifty years, perhaps a few shy of sixty, watched as a young boy, his charge, and even as forbidden as such attachment was, especially considering who exactly the boy was, and what his future destiny entailed, his son in everything but blood, sat diligently in his seat, alongside a great many of other orphans that the Order of St. Dumas had taken in when no one else would, listening attentively as one of the church's volunteer workers continued with their history lesson.

He watched as his charge diligently took notes, his eyes glancing up when the instructor mentioned something that caught his attention, his emerald green eyes staring intensively with such focus…

"Watching our young prodigy again, are we?"

Snapping his gaze away, the man looked to his immediate right, giving a small smile at the sight of the woman at his side.

"Oh! Dr. Thompkins! You startled me! How are you?"

Dr. Thompkins, or Leslie as she preferred to be known as, gave the elderly man a small smile, which turned into a reproachful stare as she stated, "I'm fine, thank you for asking you Father Day. And how many times have I asked you to call me Leslie? I think we have a comfortable enough relationship that you can call me by my first name, if only in private."

The elderly man, known as Father Day, gave a low chuckle, hand reaching for the cross adornment hanging around his neck, holding it tightly in his grip for a brief moment before giving Leslie a small smile.

"So I recall…"

Giving his surrogate son one last look, he turned on his heel and began walking down the halls of the Church of St. Dumas, pausing shortly to ensure that Leslie was following him before beginning his trek once more.

"And yet to fail to do one simple request. If didn't know you so well, I'd say you were doing it on purpose just to aggravate me."

Day gave another chuckle at that, glancing at his companion as he walked further down the hall, saying, "Come now Leslie. I'm far too old to be pulling those sorts of jokes on anybody, least of all you."

"I'd be inclined to believe you if it weren't for the fact that a certain charge of yours has a mischievous side to him, a side that I've seen you more than once encourage. And you do yourself a discredit Father, you're not that old."

Glancing over at the woman beside him, Father Day couldn't help but say, "Are you sure about that? Next to you, I'm ancient old relic."

That brought a small smile to the woman's face, in addition to a pink twinge to her pale cheeks at the compliment.

"Flattery will get you nowhere with me Father."

"Perhaps, but it does not make what I said any less true."

The pink twinge on her cheeks turned to a full flush, which brought a hearty laugh from the priests lips, which only caused Leslie's flush to darken to red in response.

He took the moment to then look over his companion in full detail.

Shoulder length brunette hair, with speckles of white showing her aging form, her skin aside from a few wrinkles around her eyes was unblemished, pale white in color, giving her a slightly ethereal look. Her bright blue eyes only highlighted the look, her soft smile only complimenting her beauty. If he didn't know better, he'd say she was Angel, sent down by the Lord himself…

Shaking his head at such ideal fantasies, he watched slightly amused as she attempted to regain her composure, and he took note of her state of dress.

A long brown ankle length skirt with a matching kaki colored sweater, which was covered by a white labcoat, showing that she had just come from her job at Gotham Medical.

Regaining her composure, Leslie attempted to turn the conversation back on to their earlier subject, namely the young boy with raven black hair and emerald green eyes. "It's strange how with how wonderful a boy Harry is, that no one has tried to adopt him. I would think that there would be a long line of parents wanting to take the child home, but ten years later and he's still here, not one parent having taken an interest in him."

Leslie's chanced a glance at Day, and found his expression distant, and felt a twinge of remorse for her statement. Father Day thought of the boy as his own child after all, despite how well he thought he hid such feelings…

If only she truly knew what the man was thinking…

In truth, Father Day knew the exact reason why Harry was never adopted, despite, as accurate as her guess was, of the many childless couples or single parents who wanted a child of their own that had made their desire to adopt the young Potter very clear.

The Church had refused their requests to adopt him. If he was to achieve his destiny, his future, then he would need to be under direct supervision of the church, brought up to uphold their ideals, their values, their truth…

Such a decision, especially one that would radically alter the boy's life, was not one that he had taken well. He did not argue against it of course. He was a firm believer of the Church's goals, of a world without sin, and knew that sacrifices had to be made.

But to deny a child a family, of people who wanted, by choice, to love him, nurture him, care for him…

Some sacrifices were steeper than others, but he felt that such a kind and caring boy with such a large heart, and a deep-seated need to help others shouldn't have to pay such a price.

Perhaps that was the reason that he paid such close attention to the boy? Not out of love, but out of pity, both for the ten years of not knowing the love of a mother or father, and for the trials he would one day face.

For the day he would take up the mantle that so many had taken up before him…

He shook such thoughts from his mind, his hands clasping around the cross around his neck, affirming his belief that his care for Harry came not from pity or guilt, but out of a very real sense of care and devotion to the young boy who had wormed his way into his heart.

Nodding his head as if to assure himself of that fact, he masked his emotions before replying steadily, "I suppose so few truly see his worth. It is unfortunate, but not uncommon. A great many children left in our care have faced similarly disappointments. Harry is not the first, and unfortunately, shall not be the last I'm afraid."

Leslie simply looked at him, a thin eyebrow raised in question.

"That's a rather cynical viewpoint Father, especially for a priest."

"A priest I may be, but I am neither naïve nor stupid, despite what some people may think. I'm also not blind. I've seen the villainy that's infested this city, the corruption, from the crime families down to the very police force. More than once I've had to tend to an injured soul, bleeding from a mugging or worse, too scared or ashamed of going to the authorities or hospital, instead coming here seeking sanctuary and aid."

Stopping abruptly, he took a calming breath before directing an apologetic smile towards his younger companion.

"I apologize Leslie. Forgive my anger, it was not directed at you. It's just disheartening to know that the neglect of a child is undoubtedly one of the lesser offenses this city has seen in the last several decades."

Leslie gave a strained smile in return, understanding the priest's frustration, sharing it on more than one occasion. She was a doctor in Gotham General after all, one of the best, and had seen the corruption of Gotham firsthand. Board members being in the back pockets of the Falcone Family, often pushing members of their crime syndicate for medical treatment, sometimes threatening the safety of doctors to get them to cooperate, and leaving less fortunate patients to expire when time spent patching up bullet wounds or sewing and cleaning knife wounds could have been better spent operating on a young child hit by drunk driver…

Breaking away from depressing thoughts, and forcing the image of a young boy, eyes hazy as the heart monitor stopped beeping as she attempted to move him to the OR, his father and mother letting out screams of denial and anguish, Leslie herself feeling her own eyes well up with tears…

Pausing momentarily, Leslie glanced up at one of the stained glass windows, depicting a scene of a demonic creature lying on the ground, the surrounding area one of fire and brimstone, its ghastly visage looking up at a robed figure, its face hidden up the hooded veil obscuring it, gender indistinguishable, above its head a scythe poised to strike. Behind him, was a pair of snow white wings…

"Do you believe in angels Father?"

Glancing up at the stained glass window himself, Father Day took in the scene, one depicting the Angel of Death, enforcing its sacred duty of being a guardian of the gates of hell, dispatching one of its many trapped souls, attempting to escape its prison.

He clutched at his cross again, staring at the dark space meant to hold the angelic warriors face, and closed them when an image of bright green eyes stared right back at him from black void within.

"Yes my dear…I believe in angels."

Before any conversation could continue, a loud screech broke them both from their depressing thoughts, Father Day looking up at one of the open archways, noticing a rather large owl perched on the stone railing, staring directly at him.

Tied to its leg, was a rather large envelope, closed with a blood red wax seal.

_'And so it begins…'_

* * *

Harry Potter knew he was different from other children his age.

True, he was more mature than those of his fellow peers, if only by a small margin (he is only eleven after all, and was prone to causing mischief), and he was a great deal more intelligent (though he attributed that to being more studious and having a genuine desire to learn), as well as being very protective of his friends and those close to him, much to the point of physical violence if pushed, though he did not come out of any of those confrontations unscathed.

But that was not what made him different from the other children within the church of St. Dumas.

He didn't know how he was different, least of all why, but he knew that there was something strange about him. For starters, there was his scar, which was unique in the fact that it resembled a lightning bolt, a fact that many of his fellow orphans had commented on and said was "cool", but it's odd shape was not the most peculiar aspect of it. In fact, unlike most scars that faded from the passage of time, his still looked fresh and new. It even flared up in pain at the most random of times, and had on occasion, began bleeding for no reason. He had spoken to one of the nuns within the church, acting as a nurse to the children whenever they injured themselves or got sick with something as trivial as a cold, but she had found nothing could be done for it. At other times, he could have sworn that he could see black vapor escaping the wound, but played it off as his overactive imagination.

Then there was the mysterious accidents or unexplainable things that happened sometimes around him, such as the time he had been in a fight with one of the older boys, who had seen it fit to pick on him due to getting 'special attention' from the various members of the church, and Harry in a fit of anger, had pushed the boy back, sending him flying into a tree. Another time had him somehow able to open the locked cabinet in the kitchen area that usually held sweet foods like cookies and sweet bread, nabbing a few for some of the younger children. Other times he had managed to get on top of the rafters of the nave during times in which he tried to avoid being found by Father Day when he misbehaved, or that one time he had twisted his ankle and had spent the entire night in the infirmary, only for it to be completely healed the next day.

Harry Potter knew he was different from other children his own age, but for the longest time, he didn't know why he was different.

Until today.

Until he had been called to Father Day's personal study, until he was handed a heavy envelope containing several heavy pieces of parchment.

Until he found out that he was in fact, a wizard.

Reading the letter to himself, he had at first thought that it was some sort of joke, a prank that had been delievered from Father Day as a means of paying him back for all the ones he had played on the man himself and others.

The serious look on the priest's face belayed that train of thought, and all Harry could ask was "How?"

Perhaps in another time, and in another world, the young Potter would have been excited, perhaps even joyous at the revelation before him. That wasn't to say that he wasn't the case now. The shock was soon going over to wonder and excitement, and his mind was already going through various mythos that he had linked with magic and the fantasy world that came with it.

If magic was real, did that mean unicorns were real as well? If so, did that mean that elves, drawves, goblins, and trolls were real too? Perhaps dragons even, and if those were real, did that mean flying broomsticks existed too, or maybe flying carpets?

Harry's thoughts broke at the prompting of Father Day, who then began an explanation of his true origins. Where Hogwarts was and what it entailed, as well as a very basic history to its beginnings. His parents, who they were (he had already known their names, but nothing else) as well as the role they had in the war that had plagued England for the better part of a decade, and had moved to open warfare in only the last three. Of their deaths at the hands of Lord Voldemort, a self proclaimed dark lord who had invaded their home Halloween night and had murdered them, and had then tried to kill him, but failed. Of the fact that he had been found and left on the doorstep of his mother's sister, who did not want him and had abandoned him at the church of St. Dumas and the hands of a college of Father Day, known as Grieves, whom had then sent Harry overseas to America and into the care of Day. He also discovered that he was famous world over, because of the fact that he had survived that night.

He had asked questions of course, of what he would learn from Hogwarts, as well as the timeframe for which he would be attending.

"Several subjects, though the specifics are undoubtedly included with your letter. As for how long you will be attending? From the beginning of September to the end of June, and for a timeframe of seven years. It is a boarding school, so you will be living in the castle during that time, though you will have the option of returning home for the Christmas holidays."

It was then that the shock wore off and he began to notice that throughout the entire conversation that he had with Father Day, that his answers were short and to the point, and that his voice lacked some of the usual cheer that would underline it.

He looked up at his surrogate father, the man's face expressionless, not giving away a single hint as to what he was feeling. Not even the usual warmth that he always radiated whenever the two of them were in the same room was present, and it made the young boy feel uneasy.

Did he think he was a freak because of the fact that he had magic? Was he going to be kicked out of the church and end up on the streets? He knew about the witch hunts, both in Europe and during the earlier years of America's historical beginnings, and though he doubted he was going to be strung up or burned at the stake, he felt as Father Day simply stared down at him, eyes unwavering and unmoving, the panic and fear grip his heart.

For the first time in his short life, the church he had always considered home no longer felt as such. For the first time in his life, Harry didn't feel safe.

The panic must have shown on his face, as immediately Father Day's expression soon became much more relaxed, and the familiar smile and warmth that were always present on the man's face whenever Harry was with him returned.

"There is no need to be afraid Harry. I am not ashamed of you, nor do I believe you are lesser for having such unique gifts at your disposal. I care for you deeply, and I apologize if I made you think otherwise."

Some of the tension left the young boy's shoulders at the older man's response, and embroiled slightly, Harry asked, "Is there a reason why I survived that night when my parents didn't? What's special about me that allowed me to live and not them?"

A part of Harry was morbidly curious about the events of that night, and another part of him, while he would always feel grateful that the church took him in and considered to be his home, wondered why his birth parents didn't survive that night, and why he had been denied a family because of one man's cruel ambitions.

Father Day seemed hesitant, and seemed to have an internal struggle before he stated softly, "You are very special Harry. Special, neither because of the fact that you have magic, nor entirely of the fact that you survived that night ten years ago, but because of your destiny, of the role you play in the future."

"Role? What role? What is my destiny?"

It was here that Father Day's expression turned serious, and some small part of him wished he hadn't asked the question, but his overwhelming sense of wonder and curiosity batted such feelings aside.

"To rid the world of Sin Harry. To fight the encroaching darkness that continuously blackens the cities of this world, of the corruption that is slowly consuming the hearts of its citizens. The greed, the jealousy, the anger, the unbridled and destructives desires that every man and woman in the world holds. To deliver justice to those justice has been denied, to deliver punishment to those who deserve nothing less, to be an instrument of the Lord and bring true peace and stability to his children."

Harry's head spun at the revealed information, and he barely caught Father Day's last sentence, his mind a jumbled mess of awe, fear, excitement, and confusion.

"To one day walk the path of Azrael…"

Licking his suddenly dry lips, and trying to swallow the lump that had grown in his throat, Harry croaked out, "B-but, what if I don't want to? What if I want to go to university, and be a doctor? Or a lawyer, or teacher? What if I don't want to fulfill this 'destiny'?"

"It is not up for me to decide that Harry. Ultimately, you are the only one who can make that choice, but know that no matter you may decide in the future, I will support you in any way possible."

Pausing briefly, Father Day allowed his message to sink in, before continuing, saying, "It may seem like a terrible burden Harry and I understand that it is probably overpowering, especially to a young eleven year old boy, but think of all the good you would do. Of the lives your efforts will have made better. Lives you will have saved from men and women who take enjoyment at the suffering of others."

Moving to the nearby window, Day opened it up, and the room once quiet now alive with the noise of children laughing out in the courtyard below.

Staring down at the many youths that the church had taken under its wing, Day spoke once more, his voice nothing more than a whisper, but carrying over the symphony of ignorant joy and bliss, and tightly grasping the young Potter's heartstrings.

"Of the children who have suffered loss and of those who can one day avoid that same pain."

Turning his head and staring at the young boy, Day, feeling his heart break and soul scream in outrage and torment at manipulating the young boy's gentle and caring heart, for all intents and purposes, _forcing_ him to make the only choice he was given so he could willingly walk down a path many had done before him, and perhaps, may never have to again.

_'I am truly sorry, Harry. More then you will ever know or understand.'_

"As I said Harry, no matter the decision, I'll support you."

Staring at Father Day, and then stepping beside him and looking down at the many children outside in the courtyard, laughing and playing, some even noticing his gaze and waving to him in unbridled joy that he didn't even need to second guess his decision, despite how apprehensive he was at making it.

"Father Day? Could I have a pen and some paper please?"

* * *

Albus, as he slowly reread for perhaps more than a dozen times in half an hour, the letter he had received earlier that day from one Harry James Potter, released a tired sigh, finally placing the page down and leaning back in his armchair.

Removing his half-moon spectacles, he rubbed at his eyes tiredly; attempting in rather poorly to stem the stinging they were suffering from due to the intensity he had focused on what had been his greatest fear in the past decade.

Placing his glasses once more on his crooked nose, a permanent reminder of the animosity between he and his younger brother, Aberforth, he read the letter once more, despite knowing that no matter how many times he did so, its contents would not change.

_To __Albus__Percival Wulfric Brian__Dumbledore, Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry,_

_I, Harry James Potter, regret to inform you that I wish for my name to be stricken from your school records as a potential student, as with much deliberation and thought, have decided not to attend your fine institution._

_Please understand that my choice, while yes affected by my upbringing within the church, was not made in malice or fear of my heritage or of some misguided belief that magic is the work of evil. While I do have a desire to learn the extent of my talents, to control my abilities and discover the wonders of your world, I feel that I cannot simply abandon my home here within the church. Perhaps it is not a proper home, but it is the only one I've ever known, and I don't think I'll ever truly leave it._

_You also spoke of my parents, of how they would have wanted me to attend Hogwarts, and perhaps you are correct in that. You have a familiarity with them that I do not, and watched them grow from children to adults within the very walls that you provided a home and place for them, and many others like them to learn from. Therein lays the problem. You knew my parents; I did not have that honor. While I wished I had, and still do on occasion, I believe that regardless of what they may have wanted me to do in terms of education, childhood, and even my future, they are dead, and I would like to think that now, watching over me, that they wish for nothing more than to be happy. And Headmaster Dumbledore, I am happy right where I am, here in the church. It may not be the answer you want to hear, nor may it be the answer that my parents may have wanted to hear should they have been alive, but it is my choice. Please do not hold that against me._

_I know it may not be tactful to ask, but if can, could you please write to me about my parents? It may not be entirely appropriate, seeing as I have decided not to join your institution, but I know nothing aside from their names, not even what they look like. If don't wish too, I understand and won't hold it against you._

_Sincerely,_

_Harry James Potter_

Indeed, it hadn't been the answer he had been hoping for. In truth, he had hoped the lure of magic itself, and knowing of his parents, of how that his parents would have wanted him to attend Hogwarts (not a lie considering that had been the first thing they had decided once it had been confirmed that Lily had become pregnant), but based on the letter he had just received, it did not work out as well as he had hoped.

The boy had even called him on it, a truly amusing turnaround. And the fact that he did so respectfully and collectively, even explaining why such reasons would not influence his decision…

Dumbledore felt an immense feeling of pride at that, and beyond that, a rather small measure of guilt at trying to manipulate the boy's feelings. Regardless of whatever his feelings may be on the matter, he was not going to force the boy to attend. He would also make a note to contact some old friends of the Potters, and see if they don't have any photos of the couple, and perhaps part with a few memories of their time at Hogwarts, he mentally added as he eyed his Pensieve. And though he regretted doing so, opened and blacklisted Harry's name on the ledger of potential students.

While the threat of Voldemort was still present, (as he believed the man was merely weakened, not dead) he realized that he could not force Harry to attend his school, and any attempts on to do so were foolish as they were meaningless. Though he felt that he had failed both Lily and James, he knew that in the end, whatever mixed feelings they may have on their son's choice, would have accepted it. It was his choice, and he was only doing what he felt was best for him, what made him feel happy.

And who was he to deny a young boy his happiness?

Taking a single lemon drop, Dumbledore gave a small sigh before moving on to other acceptance letters or inquires from parents of newly discovered first generations.

One in particular caused him to chuckle, putting him in lighter spirits, the rather constant questions flowing down the sheet of paper, written in the untidy scrawl he easily recognized as a child's, some simple as to whether this was some sort of prank and where to get these 'rather strange and untoward school supplies', to 'possibility of advanced studies and masters, and the magical equivalent of modern day universities'.

_'Hermione Granger? Such an intuitive young mind…'_

* * *

**/-/Author Note\-\\**

* * *

**Another chapter written and posted and apologies to the long wait. I've been very busy with work and barely had anytime afterwards to write. Fact of the matter is that I've only been on the computer a few times a week for the past several months, so my writing time has been limited. My apologies once again for the long wait.**

**Anyway, I basically skipped over ten years of Harry's life, and introduced a Father Day, who'll play a somewhat big role in the rest of the story. To those who are curious, Leslie isn't a character I made up, and actually part of the DC Universe. She'll play a rather unique role later on as well. The next chapter will be another time skip, and after that, we'll start getting into the main plot of the story.**

**Remember to leave me a review and tell me what you think. Constructive Criticism is welcomed, as always.**

******Also, to anyone waiting for an update to my Magical Effect and Wizard Displacement stories, I thank you for your patience I've been dedicating what time I do have to writing them, and I hope to have something out soon, so please wait just a little bit longer! I promise to have something out at least by years end, if not hopefully before Christmas.**


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